If No Words Are Spoken
by finalitylife
Summary: Without words, what we do is not real, only a fleeting moment at the very edge of our existences, that is to be forgotten just as it ends RobRaeish oneshot for Alenachan's challenge.


A/N: For Alena-chan's challenge since it's a good excuse to test out some things and this story is one part rhetorical, one part psychoanalytical, and one part Rob/Rae which makes for one strange piece, though everything I write is a little strange. I actually set out to try and use every line that is part of the challenge but instead, this is what formed. It's a bit complicated of a one-shot and there's a chance you may walk away from this not understanding it because I don't think I even understand all of it, but understanding is not always needed now is it. Enjoy.

If No Words Are Spoken.

By: Finalitylife

Am I a hero? I do not know. A hero doesn't cry yet I have allowed tears to well up in my eyes in moments of weakness...when I am hidden alone within my room. Does this weakness mean I am not a hero or does it simply mean that heros are still human, that we still feel things just like everyone else despite the pedestal on which we stand.

I am guilty of more than crying, this much I know. I have growled in mindless anger, brooded in pure depression, and I know in my worst and most recent moments, lusted for the amethyst-eyed enchantress who glides silently through my home...our home.

However, I also know there are moments...moments that I've shared with her and just her, where I search for answers to the questions that plague me. The moments are secretive just as we are and sometimes I wonder if they really aren't just dreams. Words are never spoken , not even near silent whispers that would only be meant for us and only us.

We both prefer the silence, this much I know, and I believe it is for the same reason that we never speak our truths to each other. Silence is safe, this much I know...this much she knows. If we do not speak, if we remain within the simple silence that we both have dwelled within for so long, just like the shadows that follow us both, then maybe our weaknesses, our mistakes won't be real.

If no words are spoken, then she does not admit that she actually feels things, that beneath her cold, emotionless exterior, beats the heart of a woman...a woman who like any other has desires and needs.

If no words are spoken, then I do not have to admit that I actually feel things, that beneath the costume and mask of the legendary Robin, lies a normal man with faults and weaknesses...a man who like any other can make mistakes.

We both desire to stay in the silence without words , stay within our own form of denial of our self defined vulnerabilities as we give in to our humanity with each other. We know what we do will never be spoken of after it is done, know no other living soul will ever be privy to our actions or are reasoning just as we know that we can fully trusted each other each time to maintain the necessity of silence.

It is within the silence that our "reality" can meet our reality without becoming too real. No words of truth spoken despite actions of truth enacted between us. Actions can not be real if we do not label them, do not define them with words spoken to another. Without words, what we do is not real, only a fleeting moment at the very edge of our existences, that is to be forgotten just as it ends.

However, I find myself as time flows on unable to completely forget our secret moments we share and I find myself disgusted with myself as the lust can not easily be pushed away. I try to never speak its name, just as with the moments, believing that if I do not speak to it, it simply can not be, yet I still feel it within my chest. It has become a consistent, unrelenting reminder of my humanity, and maybe it would be easy to hate Raven, for she is the reason for it being there, though I know I can not do that. If I hate her, then I am only allowing more emotions to grasp tighter control on my actions.

A blatant false justification on my part for I know the real reason I can not hate her...I know that I simply can't bring myself to ever think negatively of her...I don't want to hate her...ever.

My room is silent, my life is silent, we are silent. Am I a hero? Am I a human? If everything is silent, do I even exist? The questions that plague me always result in disturbing answers, answers that I do not want to be, yet can not deny. I am a hero and a human being, Robin and Richard. It is a truth, one I have only admitted into existence at this very moment, though only in my mind, never aloud where the world can except it as fact.

Raven is Raven though she does not desire to be 'Raven', but rather only Raven just as I desire to be only Robin, not Richard, and certainly not Dick. I guess though what I desire is not always a possibility, not always easy, and certainly not clear and maybe I already knew the truth the moment I first kissed Raven. Maybe she already knew the truth the moment she first kissed me. Maybe the truth was already very real before the self imposed silence and that the justification of who we are was already an inevitability the moment she melted in my arms.

Only more questions with hidden answers that may not be so hidden anymore.

I see Raven in the pale moonlight, her shrouding hood down revealing all of her face. Ethereal and angelic, emotionless and cold...for the moment, for almost all the moments except those that we spend together without words. I approach, my careful steps making no sound, and I see her smile...a small accepting smile for our moments that reveal the truths that we still refuse to acknowledge, that we are who we are despite who we are.

I see her smile and I know, that despite our need of the silence, I need to hear her breath. I hear her gentle breathe and I can't help but want to feel her touch. I feel her touch and I know I will need to taste her lips. I taste her lips with my own and I am intoxicated by her scent.

It is her scent that I know is the most important for it is something she can never hide, never conceal like the emotions she tries not to show. For her scent is like the scent of life...her life, the woman known as Raven, not anyone else. It was there from the beginning, and it will be there for the end, and I know I am weak because I am glad it will always be there, despite the mask of emotionlessness she tries to wear.

Her scent, it wraps itself around me, tightening its bind upon me, unleashing the lust deep inside, and I know I feel disgust with myself, I know I feel resentment and self loathing yet what I also know is that I feel things I have never felt before when I am in the silence with her. I feel weak and human and the most terrifying fact that I've just come to know is that in our moments of wordless silence, I no longer dread being human...no longer care that she just whispered three little words into my ear, silencing the silence forever.


End file.
